I'm Lost…Start Over??

Was cleaning my room, March 23, 2010

and found a letter my mom sent me from rehab a while back when things were really bad.

Makes me cry when I read it even today. Couldn’t bring myself to even finish the letter when I first got it.

Made me go back and find an essay I wrote about her. I’ll try to cut it down so its not so daunting but here it is:

Halloween: a time where doorbells ring more than most nights. This holiday was usually one of my favorite times of the year. I was crushed when I heard the word “no” come out of my father’s mouth when he told me I was not allowed out of the house that night. A night where people expected you to be someone you were not; a night where friends got together to be kids again; a night that I could not enjoy that year.

My father had no real reason to tell me I couldn’t do what they had let me do each year. I didn’t understand what was different this time. I decided to talk to my mother, wanting to hear her opinion on this absurdity, as I always do when one parent tells me what I don’t want to hear. That’s when I realized that she was the reason I could not leave the house that night. Due to her drunken state, her judgment about that night’s activities was mistaken. She would not hear my argument and although I knew from experience that yelling and arguing with someone who’s drunk gets you nowhere, I persisted, to get my point across that I had a right to enjoy my Halloween. Words were said, not necessarily with harsh intention but with harsh meaning, until I could not bear it any longer.

No longer being able to tolerate the insults and accusations being said, answering the door was no longer my problem. The cauldron was put outside with a sign stating, “Please take one.” I returned to my room, locking the door as well as trying to lock out the person I felt I could no longer trust, believe or listen to. I have had these feelings about her ever since I started high school and continue to feel them to this day. It is known to be true that people are uninhibited when under the influence of alcohol, making the things she said even more real and hurtful.

Certain things remind me of the words that came from her mouth and I feel I can never forgive her for that. Being on a relentless track to death in continuing her nasty habits only increased the tension in our family of three. Two of the family members know something must be done while the other continued as if the disease had little effect on us. Not realizing the effects of her actions, she had a need and a drive to continue abusing the poison every day. This on going demand for the substance is considered, by most doctors and scholars of medicine, a disease. However in my mind alcoholism is a curse that punishes the people around the user. Although doctors tell me to be sympathetic, in my mind the blame rests on the person who is suffering from this “disease”. Even though I tend to speak bitterly about it, I do believe that a sort of forgiveness is deserved for my mother’s efforts in patching up the wounds she left on my heart, but scars will forever remain.